


Frying pan, fire

by Sheffield



Series: Dark!Gregor [8]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:32:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheffield/pseuds/Sheffield





	Frying pan, fire

“He’s just a goon,” Miles said. “Keep him in the brig and make sure he doesn’t damage the ship, himself, and especially anyone else. Remind me to dump him in Vorbar Sultana if we ever get within dumping distance.”  
Mark rolled his eyes but Elli was taking notes.  
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr Zografos is the least of our problems just now, don’t you think?”

The drugs had worn off, the money had run out, but at least he’d managed to signal clearly enough to get the bod pod picked up by a Dendarii ship before the oxygen had run out altogether. You’d think Zografos would been at least a little grateful, but then Byerly was hardly going to zip himself into a bod pod with someone whose idea of conserving oxygen would have been to rip his head off without taking the elementary precaution of dosing him with Gregor’s little recreational drug cocktail. The hangover - as Byerly could personally testify - was really quite enervating, but that was hardly an excuse for Zografos trying to rip Byerly’s head off *after* they’d been rescued. And in the presence of Miles’ ... charming... lady warrior. Sergeant Taura had been quite an eye-opener for By. The way Zografos had cried for his mummy had been rather entertaining, in the end.

“Lay it out for us again, By, please?”

They’d watched the little snippet of film a couple of times. Gregor Vorbarra, Emperor of three worlds, had smiled at the camera and said “Hello Miles, Mark, everyone. I’m afraid I’m going to have to Request and Require you all to stay away from Barrayar in the future. I can’t stop you going to Komarr, of course, but you’ll be arrested on sight if you land, and you’ll find the Escobar route to Sergyar is out of commission too. I’m finally having - fun, Miles. You can’t imagine. There’s one thing I’ll let you do, though. If you want to, you can go to Sergyar. One small ship; no more than six of you. Warn ImpSec if you want to take me up on it. Your mother and father are fine there; happy colonists in their own little time of isolation, I imagine. You can join them if you like, but it’s a one way trip. One shuttle, one trip, and there’s a gravitic imploder lance waiting for you at the wormhole if you try to come back. That’s all, Miles. Live happily ever after, won’t you. I intend to.”

Byerly had been debriefed informally, by the med tech who’d checked him out when they’d pulled him out of the bod pod, and again by Sergeant Taura when she’d fed him a cup of rather splendid chocolate - for the shock - after she’d dealt so admirably with Zografos. He had said rather more than he’d intended, distracted by the sheer number and quality of calories the supersoldier had imbibed while he sipped his chocolate. Now it was time for the formalities. 

He suspected Miles would have very much liked to check out whether his fast penta allergy was entirely fatal but had nobly refrained from making the experiment. Whether his... clone/brother.... would have similar qualms was something he wouldn’t like to bet his life on, although if necessary he supposed he could let them try Gregor’s oh-so-amusing little “no, I can’t walk but I’ll happily worship and obey you” cocktail on him. Ah well.

He set it out again, formally this time, for a curious audience of Dendarii, the ones Miles had assured him were “in the know” about his bizarre double identity and his even more bizarre clone. Brother. Glowering evil twin.

“Gregor has imprisoned Ivan Vorpatril in an oubliette at the back of his dressing room and is experimenting with, well, starving him to death, seemingly. Although he loaded me up with supplies before he shoved me in there, and Ivan might be good for another month or so, at that rate. Um... a large number of those calories would be alcohol, but I was rather limited in my selection. At the same time he appears to have arranged for Simon Illyan’s chip to fail and for him and Alys Vorpatril to have been quietly shipped off planet to Sergyar, supposedly to recuperate. The best information I have is that they were alive and well in stasis when the ship left, and that there’s no reason to suppose they weren’t unloaded before the ship itself took off and exploded in the Escobar window. Sergyar is effectively cut off from the nexus, except for its route via Barrayar, over which Gregor of course exerts complete control.”

“It’s not exactly Mad Yuri,” Elena Bothari-Jesek said cautiously.  
Sergeant Taura raised an eyebrow and Elena said “Miles’ and Ivan’s ancestor; emperor who decided to kill off his relatives and started a bloody civil war.”  
“No,” Miles said carefully, “the only people Gregor has.... hurt... are people he has, well, a kind of right to.”  
The clone - brother - Lord Mark - laughed. “Have you people never thought of stuffing him on a ship and taking him to Beta? A couple of days at the Orb and he’d get his head back on straight.”

Byerly would have shared just exactly what he thought of that suggestion, except that Miles was looking at his evil twin with that expression that Byerly recognised, from years of Ivan’s bitching if nothing else, _as shitshitshitrunawayfast! forward momentum!_


End file.
